It was my Freshman year of college, back in 1991, I was home for either Thanksgiving or Christmas break. I really can’t remember which. A few of us were gathered at my friend Prescott’s house after hanging out for a brief photo op at Teal Park up in the gazebo. I remember his family being there and a few other friends. Somehow, our small gathering was crashed pretty quickly by more than the living room could actually handle. I remember very little of it other than how I felt about it. These were my friends. I was surrounded by people who cared about me.
What were we doing? Playing music. I seem to remember Prescott playing bass guitar while his brother the 12-string and me on my electric piano. How it got there, I really don’t remember – maybe we planned on just jamming out anyway. Regardless, the music coming from the house brought friends from all over town. And it was a part of us. And we were a part of it. Something bigger. Something magical. If only for a moment.
And I learned how to play House of the Rising Sun that night. With friends.